


Every Action Has An Equal, Opposite Reaction

by BrytteMystere



Series: My Miraculous 'Verse [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Agreste is Loved, Adrino (past & mentioned), Also lots of love towards our Sunshine Cat Son because he DESERVES IT SO MUCH, Analysis of Chat Noir's powers, College is killing me rn, Ditto with LadyNoir I guess, Edit: This won't take any canon post season 1, Gen, Hopefully I'll get back into this at some point, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I REGRET NOTHING, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I regret everything, I wanted porn but here is plot, M/M, Self-cest, The Hamilton reference was absolutely on purpose, This fandom needs more Chat to Chat love, This was meant to be a self-indulgent Adrien self-cest smutty one-shot but it got Complicated™, so much plot, will add tags as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-12 09:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10487604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrytteMystere/pseuds/BrytteMystere
Summary: Plagg stopped teaching his kittens the whole extent of their powers over six centuries ago. Even if it creates an imbalance, the incarnation of Destruction and Bad Luck remains stubborn, so his latest kitten will soon have to deal with the consequences the imbalance between Creation and Destruction places on him, as well.





	1. Mitosis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Qusinbee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qusinbee/gifts), [lupintyde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupintyde/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Only Between Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8454799) by [Qusinbee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qusinbee/pseuds/Qusinbee). 
  * Inspired by [Luck of the Draw](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6234559) by [Kryal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryal/pseuds/Kryal). 
  * Inspired by [Ceaseless Flow](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/280743) by Ryuugi. 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein there's a separation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I must say that I absolutely did not expect this thing to get so complicated. When I started this, it was only meant to be a self-cest one-shot fruit from one of my chats with Jen. Alas, it got waaay longer. Main credit goes to SinfullyMiraculous, who inspired this with dear Lupintyde coming close second for somehow standing my ramblings about this thing, and of course I must credit Kryal and Wintermoth, because they’re awesome as well and each inspired this in their own way. It should be noted that in this verse, Season 1 happened through two years, Origins being placed on the 3rd and 4th of September 2012.  
> This shouldn’t be taken as Hawk Moth –as I’ll call him all through this fic, even if we all know he’s the Butterfly– not sending many akuma. Those happen at the very minimum thrice every week, but the ones seen in canon just happen to be the most notable.  
> This fic starts during the third anniversary of our dearest heroes getting their Miraculous, therefore now they’re around 17-18, and thus, in their final year of lycée, the Terminale (let’s imagine that the Française-Dupont has the three levels of lycée too). That said, let’s get this started.

          By the time his windows cleared again, letting sunlight brighten his room in such a way that sleeping would have become impossible regardless of how he felt about it, Adrien Agreste had been staring at his ceiling for exactly three hours.

          This could be mainly blamed on being able to finish a photo shoot early. With the thoroughly awful week he had been having, he had thoroughly considered thanking _Hawk Moth_ , of all people, for the reprieve, because when his Lady purified the butterfly at last, the sky was far too dark already for the photo shoot to continue, so following his kwami’s advice, he simply returned home, took a shower and tried his best to sleep his exhaustion away.

          When he then woke up at around three in the morning, though, the teen had more than enough time to ponder if going to sleep as early as he had wouldn’t have made it _worse_.

          If years of homeschooling under Nathalie’s overly efficient scheduling had stuck any habit in him, it had been being unable to sleep for more than eight hours a day, _especially_ since his mother’s disappearance. Therefore, even if he _really wanted_ to curl up and have a catnap like his kwami –who remained unaware of his Chosen’s dilemmas as he purred contentedly cuddled within golden hair–, Adrien found himself unable to.

          He knew he had slept eight hours at the very least, because his internal clock hadn’t just awakened him up for nothing.

          A glance at his phone told him that he still had three hours to get ready for his third day at _Terminale_ , but with his head still pounding and nothing better to do, Adrien rose to start his routine, quietly wishing that a warm shower would lessen his headache, or at the very least, wash away the fatigue he still felt clinging to ever single atom of his being.

* * *

          It all started on a Sunday: the 3rd of September 2013. Or, as he more distinctly recalled it, the day of his first anniversary as _Chat Noir_. The day that marked a full year since he met his Lady. Of course, maybe this... _whatever_ went even further back, but if so Adrien couldn’t figure out how much. What he _does_ remember is the strange shiver that had went through him, when Ladybug purified the latest akuma.

          The shiver went through him like lightning, and even if he had never been struck by one, Chat would have sworn the effect had been the same. Where the superhero had been comfortably warm before –his suit protecting him from the weather’s whims as it did from everything–, he now felt about to melt, as if someone had been cooking him alive and he hadn’t realised till any hope of salvation had already escaped his reach. The only reason Chat Noir hadn’t fallen to his knees right then and there was the urge to remain composed and _still_ born from years of modelling.

          Well, that, and the slightness possibility of disappointing not only his partner, but all the Parisians that trusted on them to remain strong, _to protect them_. Because for as many blows he had endured that could have easily killed another, _Chat Noir_ had always been able to simply shrug them off, or been saved by his Lady’s timely intervention. To fall to his knees _then_ , when the akuma had just been purified and his partner was about to cure the harm it had done on its way... With the recently de-akumatised civilian in the front row, no less!

_‘I... can’t...’_

          Usually, he would already have gone to the confused civilian –whom, as he realised with a certain measure of despair, could not be any older than 11– and done his best to reassure them that it had passed, that super villain’s proclivity to take advantage of their vulnerabilities was not their fault, _that Hawk Moth hadn’t tainted them_... And yet, he was unable to.

          Chat could feel his Lady’s eyes on him, an unspoken question quickly turning into concern, even as she called upon her _miracle_ , swarms of ladybugs dispersing and unmaking the damage that had fallen upon their city.

          A swarm surrounded him in particular, and the weight of his Lady’s eyes, of her rapid-fire attempts to tell what exactly was wrong and how to fix it, was like lead down his throat. He wasn’t sure of what was going on, but the swarm persisted and eventually his headache and his queasiness submitted to his partner’s relentlessness. Everything could have finished there, like that, Ladybug fixing him as she fixed everything else, and yet the moment he was back at his room and his transformation dropped, it felt _worse_.

          Freezing and burning, Adrien managed to drag himself into the bathroom. The last thing he remembered was Plagg, green eyes focused on him, all playful demeanour lost.

* * *

           He could _feel_ Tikki’s pleas, every time Ladybug and Chat Noir were close enough. But Plagg was nothing if not _stubborn_ , and so his promise to himself _would be kept_.

          As much as he hated seeing his kitten hurting, it was better than the alternative. It wasn’t like his other kittens hadn’t been able to endure the process. Many had fully grown into themselves _through it_ , after all. Tikki would bemoan his choices all she wanted, he _knew_ she would do her part.

          Because disregarding how utterly _absurd_ his Chosen could be at times, Adrien was and would be _Plagg’s kitten_ , up and till Death saw fit to take his golden child from him –as it had taken all the others–, and the embodiment of Destruction and Bad Luck had _sworn_ he would never lose another as he had once.

          So even if each lie tasted like rust in his tongue, the kwami had repeated the same words he had been repeating for over six centuries already:

_“Only Ladybug can purify corruption.”_

_“Cataclysm, that’s your power.”_

_“It’s just your body getting used to my power, Adrien. Give it two years...”_

          Plagg knew the script. He wasn’t Tikki, as much as he often wished he could be.

          No human words could even get _close_ to defining his relationship with her, but if there was something he could say it would be _unity_. For they were and weren’t. Creation and Destruction.

_“We’re supposed to be **balanced** , Plagg!”_

_“Well, it wasn’t **my** chosen who messed your precious balance up!”_

_“It’s been **centuries** , won’t you let it rest already?”_

 

          Tikki had warned him, from the instant they had _seen them_ , clumsy beings as they had always been, not to get too attached.

_“Humans are too fragile. Too ephemeral... Take care not to give too much of yourself...”_

          Tikki had warned him, and taken her own advice to heart. Not that she hadn’t made sense, after the first humans they had encountered. And yet... Plagg had been quite conscious of his actions, when he took a _ring_ as his conduit. Just as Tikki had, when she chose _earrings_.

          He never quite learned to let go, and his Chosen’s desolating tendency to lose themselves to sacrifice, regardless of the many, many, _many_ protections Plagg poured himself into for them.

          There was always _something_.

          But then, Tikki remained his equal and opposite.

          She, who could act as the kindest of patrons, hiding her apathy under cute eyes and a cuter shape, merely enjoying the few years she could usually squeeze out of them before her own powers left them in shambles, especially since their equilibrium had been distorted.

_‘Wasn’t that our motivation? Before Change went rogue? Merely... Experience a taste of their short, frenetic lives?’_

          He remained unable to hide his attachment, no matter how sour he tried to be, or how dismissive he wanted to look like. For theirs were brief lives, not even amounting to a blink in the vastness of his _existence_ , and yet _each and every one_ had left their mark, an echo of the bright souls they had become during their partnership, the realised sparkle of what they could have always been, if only within the ring that they all had worn.

          The ring that allowed their bodies to take in and _use_ his powers without their fragile flesh instantly turning into a bloodied _mess_. The ring that would forever hold an echo of that realised sparkle, which without him would have never gotten to shine as brightly as he knew they all could.

_‘I’ve always attracted firm-footed tragedies, now haven’t I?’_

 

          _Alas_ , it had been three years already, since this last kitten of his had put on his ring for the very first time.

          And through those three years, never had _Chat Noir_ used any spell but the one Plagg had allowed him.

          Three years, and Tikki’s Chosen had kept it up, diligently _purifying_ Nooroo’s latest mischief, unaware of what the yo-yo his other half had granted her truly did. She went on and on and _on_ , feeding the dark energies Nooroo’s latest Chosen had used to twist his fellow kwami’s butterflies right into her partner. Had Plagg not figured out a way, focused as he always was in his Chosen having long, _long_ lives, Tikki’s latest Ladybug would have killed his kitten in less than a year.

* * *

  _“It’s been **centuries** , won’t you let it rest already?”_ had she told him, the last time.

_‘But you know already I cannot, Tikki. My kittens are supposed to be mine, and remain mine, their sparks forever shining within my conduit... And yet... And **yet**... He alone was stolen from me...’_

_“A deal’s a deal’s a **deal** , Tikki...”_

          Yes. His partner. His equal. His counterpart... Creation would bemoan Destruction’s quirks, and still, his wishes would be followed –in this, at least.

          Because when it came to it, centuries weren’t even a _blink_ for beings such as them. And so Tikki remembered perfectly, just as Plagg, that it had been one of her Ladybugs the one to stole his due.

          Destruction had seen their power being twisted against his Chosen by none other than his counterpart’s own Chosen. The embodiment of Destruction and Bad Luck had _felt_ the human life he had cherished for _years_ be torn to pieces by the madness of _one_ Ladybug.

          The space Edmund Pierce’s _spark_ should have occupied within the ring echoed _painfully empty_ ever since.

_‘Sacrifice._

_It’s always, always, **always** sacrifice...’_

          Tikki would complain and scold him for all eternity. She knew the script too. And she always, always, _always_ played her role _perfectly_.

* * *

           When Chat Noir stumbled back into his bedroom that night, his Lady’s latest purification affecting him like nothing before had, he barely reached his bed before his transformation dropped, falling asleep the second it left him, whole body relaxing as the energies that had threatened to tear his body and soul apart were finally siphoned away.

          In the darkness, what for three years had been nothing but shadows at long last coalesced into one tangible being, and not for the first time, Plagg admired Tikki’s craftsmanship as he devoured a roll of Camembert.

For an exact replica of Adrien Agreste now stood by the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s hoping this fic stops getting away from me. Also, the smut. This is meant to be (was always meant to be) Adrien self-cest. Because r e a s o n s.  
> Btw, my conception of Entropy and how it can be weaponised comes from Ryuugi's fic Ceaseless Flow .


	2. Connexion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darien Agreste has gotten a body of his own at long last.  
> Plagg regrets N O T H I N G.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos, or even simply took the time to read this. Really, all the support warms my heart. Also, I’ll be referring to Adrien’s doppelgänger as the Vessel when not used his name because that’s his main function. The shippy scenes will be within **{~~~}** and **{~~~}**. _Allons-y !_

          Being tangible was a rather strange experience.

          He, through the three years it had taken for Creation to fully shape him, had gotten far too used to being nothing but shadows. An outside observer that was doomed to remain unable to _interfere_ even as every emotion the boy he was irrevocably connected to passed through him, intensified. A _presence_ chained to the dark hallways of Adrien Agreste’s mind, _feeling_ and _needing_ and _wanting_ , yet unable to do anything about it.

          So really, it shouldn’t have surprised anyone that once his body – _a body of his own!_ – fully crystallized, Darien Agreste merely stood in place, savouring the simple things that come with having a tangible body after being trapped in another’s.

_Breathing, in and out, feeling the taste of the air as it passed through his lips._

_Enjoying the slight breeze coming from the window on his skin, goosebumps rising all through his body as he registered coldness for the very first time._

_Hearing the soft breath of the teen lying on his bed._

_Seeing the moonlight slipping through the open window, giving the room a certain... aura._

_Feeling the teen’s exhaustion, and that strange sense of contentedness grow as the edge of pain he had endured for years diminished._

 

          “Are you going to stay there like that all night long?”

          It was definitely enough to shake Darien from his reverie. Having experienced Plagg’s antics through Adrien for two whole years, the Vessel didn’t doubt that the kwami would employ drastic measures to get him to _move_.

          Within three blinks his eyes had adjusted to the darkness in the room, and Darien moved to close the window, for as much as the air on his skin had felt _amazing_ , he had quickly realised that the coldness it brought wasn’t his thing. For being early September, the weather had already taken quite the wintery feel.

          “You didn’t warn him at all,” said Darien at last, looking rather pointedly at the kwami, who had finished a whole Camembert wheel and was already starting another, quite obviously ignoring how Adrien had told him that the Camembert wheels in the minifridge –a small allowance Nathalie had gotten his father to allow, once Adrien’s apparent obsession with the cheese made him need it constantly– were meant for _emergencies_ not even a week ago.

          “It’s not my job to do so,” replied the kwami, shrugging before swallowing a piece of cheese almost larger than his head in one go. “I’ve always let my Chosen deal with their Vessels as they saw fit,” continued the deity when Darien’s glare intensified. “Adrien and you can iron out the details, I’m sure.”

 _‘Or you simply didn’t want to bother with a warning,’_ thought the Vessel, pressing his lips in a disapproving line.

          “You’ve had _three years_. I’m not the first one, so what, exactly, were you trying to get out of having to explain?”

          Within one blink and the next, Plagg’s whole countenance changed, drastically enough that Darien could have claimed to suffer emotional whiplash and it wouldn’t have been an exaggeration.

          “Adrien and you. _Will_ deal with this. _On. Your. Own. Way_.”

          It wasn’t a threat inasmuch as a _warning_ , like a parent who had finally tired of their child’s unending questions, a slight remainder that regardless of how easy going he could be, his authority still demanded a certain _respect_ the child in question was dangerously close to infringe.

 _“Enough, kitten,”_ was what remained unsaid and yet implicit in the kwami’s tone. And Darien pouted, frown still in place, but said no more.

          A sigh from the bed –from Destruction’s golden-haired Chosen– soon drew his attention, as the teen in question nuzzled further into his bed, his sigh probably coming from his obvious uncomfortableness, since once he had detransformed, Adrien had remained clad  in the tight, form-fitting jeans he had been wearing that day, his button shirt certainly not more comfortable to sleep in.

_‘He’s even wearing his shoes... Ahhh, Adrien...’_

          The Vessel approached the Chosen carefully, as if the teen would suddenly awaken from his sleep to find a naked twin and move in to attack him. Or, as Plagg amusedly saw it, as a scaredy-cat approaching their sleeping owner.

          Each step was paused, carefully soundless, the Vessel’s cat-like eyes –for he didn’t need to fully transform to draw on Chat Noir’s abilities– darting quickly from the floor to Adrien, hyper-focused on any and all reactions, or as much of them he could have seen with the teen facing downwards. All in all, Darien took his time to get by the bed, kneeling on its white support by the skateboard ramps.

          “He should have at least taken his shoes off,” he whispered, so quietly that had the kwami –who remained by the minifridge– not had supernaturally good hearing, it would have been but a sigh on the breeze.

          Alas, the kwami _did_ , so Plagg paused his Camembert feast to give him the side-eye.

          “Then _take them off yourself_ , kitten. _Ugh, really,_ ” muttered Plagg, finally settling on the globe on Adrien’s bedside table, as nonchalant as if he hadn’t just suggested his Chosen’s Vessel to strip him during his sleep.

          Darien was well aware of his nakedness. For three whole years he had lied in waiting, wandering through every part of Adrien Agreste’s mind and soul, as Creation shaped him more and more with each one of her miracles. As each purification fed him the energy he needed to subsist. As he slowly became more and more self-aware, a hominoid designed to match the Chosen and complement him in whichever ways were needed. Everything Adrien Agreste knew, Darien knew as well; just as everything Adrien Agreste felt, Darien felt as well, if rather intensified.

          So Darien knew his naked state wasn’t ideal to approach anyone without previously granted consent. _Especially_ if, as was the case with Adrien, the person in question had no previous warning of his presence. _And yet..._

          Adrien’s uncomfortable situation –clad as he was in his street clothes and shoes, lying unprotected over his blue duvet, the cold that had slid into the room from the previously open window making him shiver– remained like a constant inch for Darien, heightening with very minute it was left unattended.

_‘I’ll just make him more comfortable, that’ll be all...’_

* * *

          Plagg watched, entertained, as the Vessel took off his Chosen’s shoes, each movement deliberately paused, gracefully unlacing them in such a way Adrien was barely moved at all.

_‘Graceful as a cat, that one...’_

          Once his shoes were off, Adrien sighed contentedly as his toes curled into his duvet, which made his Vessel freeze in place, hands quivering helplessly over his Chosen’s body before his need to make him comfortable overran his hesitation. Adrien’s positive reaction seemed to give his Vessel the confidence boost he needed to finish what he had started, moving towards Adrien’s buttoned shirt.

          The Vessel’s breath still wavered, but his hands remained steady, as he hugged Adrien towards his chest to carefully turn him around, so that he could access the buttons and start unfastening them as gracefully as he had unlaced his shoes, until the shirt lied fully open, not having touched his Chosen’s skin _once_ in the process. Till the Vessel moved on to fully take the shirt off, at least.

          Plagg barely kept himself from laughing when the Vessel held his Chosen close again, this time with no barriers between their chests, in an obvious attempt to fully take his shirt off more easily. He hadn’t warned Adrien about the Vessel’s existence, but neither had he warned the Vessel about what would happen if he touched his Chosen directly. For even if it had been Tikki’s magic what had given him a body and a mind of his own, what _fuelled_ him was the power that had constantly coalesced into Adrien himself. The same energy that Darien had been taking in – _consuming_ , even– by merely _existing_ within the range of Chat Noir’s miracle.

          By touching Adrien directly, though, the Vessel had passed from breathing regular air to hooking himself up into a refined oxygen tank. From eating special rations to a delicious homemade meal. From Cottage Cheese to Camembert... That is, a suddenly _huge_ increase in quality that could leave one breathless if caught unawares. The Vessel’s reaction was _priceless_.

          As Darien himself had mentioned, he was _far_ from being the first Vessel. However, regardless of how many kittens he had had before –with their respective Vessels–, Plagg never seemed to get tired of their first reactions. The face the Vessels made the first time they touched Plagg’s Chosen skin to skin, or the face _his kittens_ made the first time they saw their Vessels... _Utterly priceless_.

 _‘Only second to Camembert,’_ mused the embodiment of Destruction and Bad Luck. _‘But always a delight...’_

**{~~~}**

          It was _electric_ , in an _extremely good way._

          Every single previous sensation paled in comparison, none could ever _approach_ the feeling of Adrien’s skin on his. Or rather, the power rush that filled him with it, connecting every single element of his being in a delightful sensation that tore a moan from his lips, blatantly disregarding the possibility of waking Adrien up –in a rather compromising situation– if he was too loud.

          Holding Adrien was addicting, and as such, the Vessel wanted _more_.

**{~~~}**

          The process was always curious.

          So many of his kittens had had Vessels already, one would have thought the novelty of their relationships would have worn off. And yet...

          Each pair was uniquely different.

          So Plagg waited, till both the Vessel and his Chosen –both his kittens, now– were at last truly asleep, curled up into each other as their connection fully solidified, reaching at long last the balance Tikki had been pestering him about for so long already.

          Because, it seemed, a complementary duality was still the best answer.

_‘Tomorrow will be interesting... My dearest kittens...’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... Here’s the second chapter?  
> Note: Adrien's Doppelgänger is from here on end called "Darien Agreste".
> 
> "Darien" is both an anagram for Adrien and apparently means "gift". Jen, you're G O L D.


	3. Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe this is the third chapter, and these two idiots are meeting _just now_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My! What's this? _An update?_  
>  College **is** taking me back crying and screaming, you see. I've been kind of trying to harden myself for it but holidays are over and I'm still awfully unprepared.  
>  _Anyways,_ thanks for the support, y’all!  
>  I should mention this chap has hints of past Adrino (and a friend being kinda thirsty for his very hot bro). As always, the “shippy” scene goes between {~~~} and {~~~} for those who may want to skip it. And well, Darien is thirsty too. _Sooo thirsty..._

          He wasn’t sure what, exactly, was going on.

          One second he had been in a photo shoot that seemed to go on forever, the make-up apparently dry on his face. Whether from the heat of the lights or from the many hours he had been made to stay there, freezing in this or that pose, Adrien wouldn’t have been able to tell.

          The next... The next, he was sitting on a chair – _or was it a throne?_ – that wouldn’t have been out of place in a palace from the 12th century.

          At arm’s reach, a mahogany oval table that seemed to extend as far as his sight went, similar chairs to his all around it, holding figures that were more fog than people, matching the prevalent darkness of the room in a way that left him unsettled to the bone. Trying to move brought forth a sudden agony that took his breath away.

          Had the silence not felt so... _absolute_ , maybe the pain would have kept him from trying to move again. But he had found himself in a strange location, with an aura that could only induce dread, and unknown presences that he instinctively _knew_ were not humans. Not anymore. Therefore, he was more careful: only his eyes moved as he tried to examine his situation, gratefully realising that he could do as much without instant agony.

          Seeing he was restrained wasn’t as much of a surprise as realising what he had been restrained _with_ , though. Which was, to his astonishment, the very same fog he had seen in the other seating figures, coiled around him and _into him_.

 _‘Restrained? No. I’ve been_ pinned _to this chair.’_

          _He couldn’t move_. If he did... It would be like trying to tear his body apart.

 

          “ _Shhh..._ ”

          Adrien had been so lost on the terrifying realisation that the stranger took him completely by surprise. Whoever it was, they were at his back, and by the tightness he felt around his neck, trying to move even that much would be... _unwise_. So he could do nothing more than stay still as the stranger caressed his hair, before their hands fell on his shoulders in a gesture that would have been comforting _had he not just discovered that he was pinned to a black throne somewhere_.

          “So _dramatic!”_ said the stranger at last, laughing as if they found his whole situation exhilarating.

_‘Is this some kind of sick joke?’_

          “Far from it,” answered the stranger, sounding as if they were trying not to start laughing again. _“You’re dreaming,_ little boy.”

          Adrien tensed, eyes going to his ring more by instinct than sense, just to feel as if he had been punched when he realised his hands were bare. Bound onto the armrests as they were by the black fog, his fingers were barely visible, if clearly enough for him to notice the lack of a certain silver ring he _hadn’t taken off_ since putting it on.

_‘WHAT–?’_

          The hands on his shoulders held him more tightly, even as his instinctual attempt to _move_ and _get his ring back_ brought the agony back again, the pain scorching away every thought.

          “Now, now, didn’t I tell you to calm down? No? Well, _do so_. This doesn’t have to be painful. We’re just trying to help you, after all...”

 _‘Help me with_ what _, exactly?’_

          Had he been able to, Adrien would have been panting. He was in a strange situation, with variables he did not know nor could ever hope to predict, and since the whole place seemed to ignore all the rules of the world he had thought absolute before meeting Plagg, it wasn’t that hard to realise it was some kwami-related business. Regardless of how used he had gotten to deal with problems on his own –if only to give his partner time to come up with some sort of solution, or simply to give her time to process the situation, since she was prone to freezing up in place while doing so–, Adrien knew this time it would require a different approach. Just as he was putting the finishing touches to several potential plans, his thought processes were again disrupted by the stranger, who had at long last bothered to show himself.

          He could have moved Adrien again, letting him experience the agony of his trapped soul trying to flee, and the teen would have _preferred it_. Because by his side was...

 _‘ **Félix!?** ’_ 

* * *

 

          Darien wouldn’t have been able to say what, exactly, had awakened him from his place, cocooned between Adrien’s arms.

          Maybe it was the sunlight of the newly transparent windows. Maybe it was a sudden decrease in the energy coming from him... Or, well, _maybe_ it was the third dry knock on their bedroom door.

          “M. Agreste, please, your breakfast will be served in twenty minutes!”

_‘Ah, Madeleine. Must be...’_

          “I’m awake, I’m awake! Thank you, Maddie!” answered Darien, as kindly as he could. She may have interrupted some comfortable time between him and his Holder, but it was better to have woken up than to have the poor maid enter and find him curled around Adrien.

_‘Now **that** would be hard to explain to dear old dad...’_

          “Miss Nathalie said to remind you that your father requested your presence in the company after lunch, sir...”

          Darien focused on Plagg’s Chosen, who would most certainly remain unconscious for hours, and with a muttered curse realised what he would have to do. After all, with the upcoming Paris Fashion Week, it wouldn’t do to put Gabriel Agreste under _more_ stress.

          “Certainly, Maddie. I’ll make sure to dress accordingly...”

 

          There was something... _strange_ , about Adrien that day. It wasn’t that Nino hadn’t noticed how hot his bro was –far from it–, but usually it was... _easier_ , to ignore how _thirsty_ Adrien could make him. Because if after three glorious years of friendship with the model had taught Nino anything, it had been that his bro usually restrained his naturally affective tendencies when in public.

_‘As if wanting a hug from time to time was improper!’_

          The part-time DJ and aspiring filmmaker was fully willing to blame Gabriel Agreste for that. After all, he could still recall _why_ he had been akumatised _so well_... even if it had been years ago.

          “ _Bonjour_ , Nino!” said Adrien as he took his seat by his side, his eyes impossibly green while his smile seemed to try to rival the sunlight in brightness and warmth alone.

          “ _Bonjour_ , Adrien,” answered the teen, pounding the fist his bro was holding ready more by muscle memory than any conscious thought, seeing as Nino’s conscious thought process had frozen the second his bro’s lips had entered his camp of sight.

          ‘ _Those lips are perfect!’_ , he would have said to whoever asked about them. Really, it was a wonder he didn’t spend hours simply staring, especially when considering the events that had followed Kim’s akumatisation. A day, of course, he remembered more by a certain study session gone _incredibly right_.

**{~~~}**

_“Nino, have you ever wondered... If maybe you... weren’t straight?” Adrien had bit his lip, ineffectually pretending to focus on the class project they were supposed to be doing._

_“The day I met you,” had he muttered, not quite intending to be heard. Adrien’s suddenly wide-eyed stare told him he_ had _, in fact, said it aloud, so Nino decided to roll with it instead of freezing up, shrugging as if admitting that meeting Adrien had erased any doubts he may have had about his bisexuality wasn’t a big deal._

_Chartreuse-green eyes stared at him, and Nino held his breath, wondering if what he was seeing in those beautiful irises was truly flattered curiosity or some sort of trick from his panicking mind._

_‘Please, please, please, tell me I’m not about to lose you, bro...’_

_“Really? Because I was thinking... I mean, you know I love Ladybug, but...” Nino felt euphoric. Whether because Adrien hadn’t seemed repulsed at all by his feelings, or because those mesmerising eyes were still focused on his, he couldn’t tell. “I was wondering... Would you mind... If I tried something?”_

_‘That look should be illegal. **Holy fuck** , bro...’_

_“G-Go ahead, no prob...”_

**{~~~}**

            “Nino?”

            Those lips were moving again, curved in a slight smirk, and the teen was shaken from his memories, realising that their bro-fist had been far longer than it should... not that Adrien seemed to mind.

            Nino finally ended the bro-fist, doing his best to ignore the blush he _just knew_ was colouring his cheeks, even if Adrien’s rather smug expression made that somewhat impossible. By then, though, their first class of the day was about to start, so he was spared any extra teasing... Although, if he had to go by the mischievous look in his bro’s eyes, lunch would be... _interesting_.

_‘I’m dating Alya, I’m dating Alya, I’m dating Alya...’_

            If he expected any mercy from his girlfriend, though, the hope vanished as she passed by his side, slightly bumping her shoulder against his on her way to her seat, hazel eyes sparkling with that glint that reminded him of what one her _fantasies_ actually entailed.

 

_“Oh, Nino... If it weren’t for the Sis Code...”_

_“Well, fantasies are just fantasies, right?”_

_“Ohhh, you should have **seen** Mari’s face when I showed her some of the Chat Noir fan art that was submitted this week to the ChatWalk... Girl has more than one crush, I tell you! So, why can’t we?”_

 

          Gulping, he begged the heavens for mercy and hoped to get through the day without further teasing. Seeing Marinette’s flustered entrance –not a minute since class had started, so earlier than usual–, a part of him guiltily hoped his girlfriend’s teasing focused on their blush-prone friend instead.

_‘Ahhh, who knows...’_

* * *

 

          When Adrien woke up at last he was shivering, even though someone had taken the time to make a blanket cocoon–

_‘Why am I by the second-floor bookcases?’_

          The increasing ache that had been plaguing him for the last year or so was gone, but his mind was a fuzzy mess and he truly couldn’t figure out how he had gone from his bed to the second floor or his room. One of his windows had remained open, letting the chill permeate the room, and no amount of blankets had kept it from affecting him.

          Had he sleep-walked? What day was it, even? He felt well rested, but if it was still night...

          “Plagg?” asked Adrien, as loud as he dared. The sky he saw through his windows was dark enough for him to think that maybe everyone was already sleeping, and if so, his room was sound-isolated well enough not to alert anyone, but when dealing with his wayward kwami, the teen was more prone to caution.

          Still half-sleep, thinking with any modicum of sense was _hard_ , but Adrien was nothing if not _persistent_.

          _“Plagg?”_

          With a tired sigh, Adrien freed himself from the blanket cocoon, and started the slowest walk down the staircase he had ever done, mostly because he couldn’t trust himself to go down the pole with how his body was trembling.

          As expected, though, his wayward kwami was sleeping off in the bin by his computer, seemingly immune to the unimpressed look Adrien was throwing his way.

_‘Really? **Really,** Plagg?’_

          By the amount of camembert empty boxes he could see, the teen would be honestly surprised if any box at all remained in the minifridge.

_‘Those were supposed to be for **emergencies**.’_

          Therefore, he didn’t feel all that guilty for grabbing the kwami and waking him up with a soft poke to the gut.

          “Plagg, wake up.”

          A soft purr was all he got as an answer, for his kwami merely avoided his finger the second time to fly into his hair and cuddle there. All said, the purrs _were_ helping with his headache, so Adrien decided to let Plagg sleep and simply took off the bag with the empty boxes himself. After all, he really didn’t want Maggie to think he was obsessed with camembert cheese.

          Having _Nathalie_ think so was already bad enough.

          Putting on a black hat from several collections ago –careful not to disturb his kwami–, Adrien was ready to tiptoe his way into the kitchen to throw his trash bag in with the main bin, to be disposed of in the morning... when his door opened, and an exact copy of himself came in.

 

          Darien felt it almost instantly.

          Adrien’s emotions had been mostly subdued all day –which he had appreciated, because the endless repetitions of their choreography for the Fashion Week had been hard enough without having to keep himself from reacting to the Chosen’s emotions–, just to speak the very moment Darien closed the door of their room behind him.

_‘Well, **fuck**.’_

          He really didn’t need to look at Adrien to tell he had gone straight into attack mode, but that didn’t make being tackled into the ground any easier.

          “Ouch–”

          _“Who are you,”_ were Adrien’s first words to him, and Darien _really_ wanted to laugh, because _of course_. _Of. Bloody. Course,_ Adrien would instantly assume he was a person.

          “Well, _now_ , isn’t this a bit _forward?”_

          ... Flirting was probably not the wisest choice, but really, being suddenly pinned to the ground as Adrien’s emotions threatened to overwhelm him had seriously messed with his thought process. That the floor –white marble in its entirety– had left him literally breathless on impact hadn’t helped, either.

          Chartreuse met chartreuse as Adrien glared and Darien tried his best to get his bearings back.

          “I’m not an akuma, if that’s what you think,” said the latter at last, doing his best to ignore the sudden influx of energy skin-on-skin contact gave him.

          _“Sure,”_ said Adrien then, and the sarcasm almost _dripped_ from every syllable.

          “Really! Am not! Ask Plagg!”

          The glare directed at him intensified then, and Darien tried without much success to keep his breaths regular and steady, because at that very moment Adrien was like a storm, suspicion and uneasiness surrendering to an ever-growing sense of _protectiveness_ that left Darien in quite an uncomfortable situation his tight pants were only making worse.

          “You’ll leave _me_ out of this, Vessel,” muttered grumpily a voice from inside Adrien’s black hat, before the kwami in question flew away –still within the hat, which made for quite the picture–, back into the waste bin.

          Adrien’s hold on him had eased, whether due to surprise or bafflement Darien couldn’t tell. And still the Vessel didn’t move.

          Darien tried to tell himself that he simply didn’t want to startle Destruction’s Chosen.

_‘Yes, indeed. I’m just being civil. It’s definitely not because he’s warm or–’_

          “ _Okay_. _Okay_. You and I,” whispered urgently the Chosen in question, “need to **_talk. Now._** _”_

          “... Why, as you wish,” replied Darien with a flashing smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dun, dun, dun, duuun..._  
>  Did someone mention _past Chat Noirs?_  
>  Ejem. Well. You'll see...
> 
> I was just thinking again, how, for having been conceived as a PWP, this whole thing is remarcably Gen rn...  
> Hint: Y'all, this will change _soon!_


End file.
